


Why Don't You Just Have All of Me?

by dovingbird



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Multi, eventual mavinsay, possible meg/barbara, rated for profanity right now, we're gonna see where it goes, will eventually earn an E
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovingbird/pseuds/dovingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love's a funny thing, yeah? It changes by the day. You can love one person in one way and someone else in a completely different way. What's terrifying is when you realize you can actually have all that love in one place if you just tell society to fuck off with its obligatory rules and regulations. The question is if it's worth the change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Don't You Just Have All of Me?

**Author's Note:**

> All right, so I’m working on a ton of projects synonymously right now, but I’ve had this on my hard drive for months now and figured I might as well release it into the wild. It’s going to be multi-chaptered, and it’s exceptionally short right now, but I’m sick of looking at it and need to get back to working on my commissions, so here, have this little teaser for what’s to come.

If there's anything that Lindsay's proud of, it's her collection of panties.  
  
Okay, so, it's not much of a collection, per se - not something to just throw up on a shelf and show guests when they come over for dinner parties, as fun as it might be in the Jones household - but she's got good taste, and it's all cute and pretty and fun and sexy, and she looks damn good in all of it too. It's in all the right colors to look fabulous with her skin tone, her hair, her eyes, and whatever else, and there's absolutely a zero percent possibility that she'll ever get bored of the way that Michael's eyes widen and light up when he sees her prancing around in them and only them.  
  
Maybe that's why she started to eschew wearing pajamas to bed anyway. Like, fuck bras, okay, she only wears them when she's in the company of somebody other than her husband and best girls, and it's the first thing she removes every day when she gets home from work, so she's clearly not wearing one of _those_ to bed no matter how endowed she is. The rest just sort of...happened organically. It's probably Michael's fault, honestly. He doesn't wear anything to bed but a pair of boxers, and he has this obsession with feeling her bare skin pressed against his, so every time they made love and she attempted to pull on a shirt over her panties for sleeping he'd always find a way to football-tackle her to the bed and spoon up close and silently hold her with a smirk no matter how much she tried to squirm away. So hey, did she sleep much that first night, stuck in a pair of panties and nothing else? Nah, not much - the heavy stimulation of the sheets brushing against her skin was just enough to keep her in the first stage of sleep for the majority of the night - but it grew on her. She got used to it. And now, wearing anything else to bed but those panties in the painful Austin heat is just impossible.  
  
They've been married for only a few months when she wakes up one Saturday to find Michael still softly snoring beside her. She smiles. Can't help it. He's too fucking cute, especially when his every muscle is relaxed and his lips are lightly parted like that. She reaches over, brushes her palm over the scratchy stubble on his cheek, but when she hears his snoring come to a halt she jolts her hand away. Nah, let him sleep. He works way too hard, the bastard, and she's pretty confident she wore him out last night anyway.  
  
There's a grand total of two ways that Michael doesn't mind being forcibly woken - blowjobs and breakfast - and so she figures after last night she might as well use the second option. It's the coffee that gets him, he says, that rich dark blend that he loves so much that she can't stand, the smell of it brewing grabbing him like a cartoon character and carrying him down the hallway. She scoots out of bed and tries to decide what she'll make to accompany it. Eggs are a definite need. Toast too. Hell, she could probably make every damn thing in the fridge and he'd still be hungry.  
  
She stretches languidly as she leaves the bedroom and wanders down the hall, fingers trying to brush the ceiling. It's already sweltering in the apartment, so much so that she swears she can feel sweat trying to bead on her skin. How hard would it be to hire a mad scientist to help her figure out how to bring the Austin summers to an early close? Wouldn't be much to hire Ryan. He likes her, for reasons she still can't quite understand, seems so attached to her that she really doesn't really know how to handle such a strong and fond platonic bond, so hell, he might help her for pocket change, but then there's the matter of finding someone who could do actual science, not just who possesses endless madness.  
  
She's silently running through resumes in her head when she strides into the living room, and in hindsight she's pretty sure that she and Gavin see each other at the exact same time.  
  
"WHAT THE FUCK-"  
  
"BLOODY-"  
  
He shrieks, full-out screams like a girl rather than finishing his sentence, and she doesn't think to cover up, just flings herself back behind the corner into the hallway and shouts out another curse when she slams her bare hip into the wall. Jesus fuck, that smarts, and she slams one hand over the no doubt growing bruise even as she turns her attention to the living room again, thinks she probably heard Gavin fall off the couch at some point in those two seconds of action. "How the fuck did you get in here?!"  
  
"I just, umm! I! Bloody hell, my _head,_ goddamn it, do you know how hard your coffee table is?!"  
  
"It's made of fucking wood!" She doesn't have the patience to feel sympathy, that's for damn sure. "Do we have a broken lock, or-"  
  
Somewhere down the hall she hears more than a few thumps coming from the bedroom, probably Michael getting tangled up in the sheets, and there's definitely shouting too, though she can't make out the words through the door she shut behind her. Doesn't matter, since Gavin's voice is a little closer still. He's on the move. "I-I've got a key, that's all, and, look, I'm just...I'm gonna let myself out, and-"  
  
"Don't you fucking dare!" She finally covers her chest with her other arm, becomes infinitely aware at what a pathetic effort it is not even a second later. She might as well be wearing a rubberband around her nipples, for all the good it's doing to preserve her modesty. "If you go anywhere near the front door you'll see me again!"  
  
"I won't look! I promise!"  
  
"Gavin Free, you are the worst liar I've ever met in my life."  
  
A brief moment of silence. Then a little snort and a snicker.  
  
"If you don't wipe my tits out of your brain right now, I swear to God I'm pouring bleach in your eyes."  
  
"But Lindsay!" He squawks her name pathetically, but he's apparently staying still since his voice isn't any louder. Doesn't matter. He's a three-year-old. His attention span barely lasts for twenty seconds, thirty tops. She figures she should get ready to inevitably slap him across the face.  
  
The bedroom door finally flies open, and Michael comes charging to the rescue, glasses askew on his nose. "What the fuck's going on? Are you okay?"  
  
She gives him a narrow-eyed smile. "Oh, God, just peachy, sweetie, just having a nice little early morning chat with Gavin, _who apparently has a key to our apartment?!_ "  
  
And it's in the way that Michael comes screeching to a halt, eyes flicking around the hallway for a bare second, that she knows exactly how he came across it.  
  
" _Michael!_ "  
  
"Hey, look, he's been around longer than you have, and I think that means he earned that damn key!"  
  
"What the fuck, how long has he had it?!"  
  
"Since...God, since before we were even dating?"  
  
"How did I not know about this?"  
  
"It was only supposed to be for emergencies, okay?"  
  
That's enough to make the annoyed twist of her gut shift to something softer, for her to turn toward the living room again even as she's infinitely grateful that he's still hidden around the corner. "Wait, is everything okay, Gavin? Is there an emergency?"  
  
There's another couple of seconds of silence before he speaks again, voice very small. "I, uh...just wanted to see if you both maybe wanted to...go get some breakfast, yeah?"  
  
She slowly turns her eyes on Michael and tastes the dryness in her tone like sand. "Emergencies, huh?"  
  
Her husband knows he's fucked. She can see it in his eyes. He stops making excuses and puffs up his chest in the way he gets when he thinks he's being intimidating, the way that just makes Lindsay have to hide a smile behind his back instead. "Gavin, you idiot, what the fuck is wrong with you?" He's in full-on Rage Quit mode as he storms into the living room. "Emergencies, I said, _emergencies._ Don't you speak English? Do you need fucking Hooked-On-Phonics?"  
  
"But Michael!"  
  
"Oh, don't you fucking start, kid, you're out on your ass the second Linds is hiding."  
  
She takes her cue, starts making her way down the hallway. "You're clear, Michael!"  
  
"Fantastic. C'mere, asshole."  
  
She glances over her shoulder as she makes her way to the bedroom. Michael is actually dragging Gavin by the collar of his polo, and sure enough, just as she predicted, just before he gets kicked out of the apartment Gavin looks over his own shoulder, locks eyes with her, cheeks red as apples.  
  
Michael goes outside with him and slams the door behind them both, enough that the walls shake, and Lindsay pauses in the bedroom and surveys the damage, where the sheets were thrown in a panic and how half of the things on her husband's end table were swept away. Nothing broken, at least. She absently grabs the shirt she was wearing the night before and pulls it on, and only then does she begin the process of putting the sheets back on the bed.  
  
She distantly hears the front door shut again, then the solid footsteps of Michael making his way down the hall. And then there's a scoff, followed by "What the fuck even is that?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"This." He wanders over and tugs at the hem of her shirt. "It's fucking nine in the morning on a Saturday. This doesn't even _exist_ right now."  
  
She tilts her chin up, keeping her eyes stubbornly focused on the comforter as she smooths it into place. "I figured I should be prepared, y'know, just in case Ray or Kerry stop by for brunch or something."  
  
The tug at her shirt stops, and Michael sighs again. She knows him so well she can almost sense him crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, I...I seriously forgot I even gave him the damn thing. Like, it was supposed to be if anything ever went wrong with Geoff and Griff, or if he fucked up a date, something like that. Besides, I was..." And another sigh, one harsh enough almost to be a growl. "I was lonely as hell when I first started working with the company, and I just..."  
  
She gets it. Glances over her shoulder to see his face. It takes a minute, but when he finally meets her eyes, a touch of tentativeness in his frown, she gives him a little smile. It's reward enough when he visibly relaxes a touch, shoulders sinking away from the level of his chin. "You're really lucky you're cute," she murmurs, "'cuz otherwise there's no way in hell I'd let him keep it."  
  
Michael's eyes widen. "Seriously?"  
  
"Emergencies." She grabs their pillows and tosses them onto the bed, shoving them into position. "Or, you know...any time after noon, we'll go with that. Unless he calls first."  
  
"Not likely with that asshole." He pauses and shuffles closer, ducking his chin a little as his frown deepens. "You sure it's okay?"  
  
"Michael." She touches his cheek again, brushes her thumb over his cheekbone. "He misses you."  
  
"What? He sees me, like, every day!"  
  
"Think about it, okay? Yeah, he sees you at work, cool, whatever, but when's the last time you guys hung out just one-on-one? When's the last time I wasn't there?"  
  
"I don't fucking know!"  
  
"Months. Like, three months. He _misses_ you."  
  
"Then he needs to stop being a pussy."  
  
"Or you need to stop being an ass who pretends he has to go out of his way to see his best friend, or that he's an inconvenience." She pokes him solidly in the chest before crossing the room and pulling one of her drawers open. A pair of jeans comes out, and she pulls them on much to Michael's chagrin. "I'm wearing pants until you make plans to hang out with Gavin, and there's nothing you can do about it."  
  
She's barely even taken three steps out of the bedroom before Michael has Gavin on the phone.


End file.
